


the landscape after cruelty

by homosexualitie



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Coda, Episode Tag, Episode: s05e13 Hawk's Nightmare, Insomnia, M/M, a lot of talking but nothing getting done, as is customary for my writing:, technically speaking this could be read as gen cause it's not shippy at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26334319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosexualitie/pseuds/homosexualitie
Summary: What Hawk says in reply is so quiet it’s almost inaudible, especially cause he turns his head ninety degrees so he’s not looking at BJ anymore. But he says, “I don’t understand why it didn’t work. I talked to Sidney, I... I know what the problem is, why aren’t the dreams going away?”BJ still doesn’t know what to say. He’s just a surgeon, he stitches guts together, not minds. But Hawkeye needs someone to stitch him together, and if BJ doesn’t do anything, he might lose the already tenuous grasp he has on Hawkeye.(it's exactly what it says on the tin: an episode coda for 5x13)
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	the landscape after cruelty

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Richard Siken's Snow and Dirty Rain because I am an unoriginal hack

BJ watches as the sky gets darker. It’s not dark yet, but the sort of dull blue of nine o’clock, maybe closer to ten. Hawkeye’s far too drunk for the time, well past tipsy and blurring into seriously drunk. BJ watches Hawk pour another drink. Hawkeye’s running on two, maybe three hours of sleep. He looks like hell, truly. He looks like a void, swallowing up hopes and dreams alike. 

BJ had advised him that he could go two weeks without sleep as long as he kept dancing. The problem is that Hawkeye has long since stopped dancing. Right now he’s slouching in his chair, barely holding onto his martini glass. BJ can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the exhaustion that’s making him so lethargic, but he’s worried.

BJ’s own martini is barely touched. Even though he would have appreciated the comfort of a few drinks to take the edge off the constant anxiety of living in a war zone, he had resolved to keep an eye on Hawk as soon as he saw him down two martinis in as many minutes. 

Sidney had left that afternoon, hopping on a jeep to get a little closer to the front, where (rumor had it) a colonel was nearing a mental breakdown. Hawkeye had watched him leave, pulled him aside to say something quietly just before he left. BJ itches to ask him what he had said. 

He doesn’t ask. Hawk’s entitled to his privacy. 

The Swamp is almost silent. Frank’s working the late shift in post-op, and Hawkeye doesn’t seem to want to talk. BJ’s giving him space, as much space as he can in the close quarters of the Swamp. 

Finally, after what seems like hours (and very well could have been), Hawkeye stands up. 

“I’m gonna turn in,” he says, and shakes his head a little. “That is, if I _can_ sleep.” It has the cadence of a joke, so BJ manages a small laugh. 

Hawkeye climbs into bed and turns off the light. Normally the Swamp is lighter at night, from the moonlight shining in or the few lights left on in the compound. It isn’t tonight. The air is just as heavy as usual, the silence just as oppressively loud, but it feels darker. Like the sky itself is waiting for something. 

BJ shakes his head and gets into bed. He’ll save the dark thoughts for the morning. 

-

Hawkeye wakes up screaming again. BJ’s out of bed and by his side in a second, grabbing his shoulders and saying, “Hawk! Wake up, it’s just a dream!” 

When their eyes meet, as suddenly as he had started screaming, Hawk falls silent. After a suspended second, with BJ’s hands on Hawk’s shoulders and their faces nearly touching, Hawkeye pulls back and turns on the light. 

BJ looks around the Swamp quickly. Frank is back from his shift, somehow still sleeping peacefully despite Hawk’s screaming.

BJ sits down on the chair next to Hawkeye’s bed, staying in arms reach of Hawk, like he’s waiting for something. 

There’s something heavy in the air, maybe the buzzing of flies, or maybe the slight hum of electricity. Maybe it’s whatever tension that’s buzzing between them right now, the crackle of static electricity or the sharp smell of fear. Hawk reaches out for BJ’s arm, grips his bicep like a vice.

“Beej,” Hawkeye says, his voice low and insistent. “I saw you die. In the dream. You were getting shot at, we were at the front and you were getting shot at. You died, you were dead.”

BJ’s at a loss for words. He doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know what Hawkeye wants him to say. He doesn’t know what _he_ wants to say. He feels unsteady, like Hawk is pulling him down into whatever spiral he’s already fallen into. 

After a moment of thought, BJ says, in a voice he hopes is reassuring, “I’m not dead, Hawk, I’m right here.”

What Hawk says in reply is so quiet it’s almost inaudible, especially cause he turns his head ninety degrees so he’s not looking at BJ anymore. But he says, “I don’t understand why it didn’t work. I talked to Sidney, I... I know what the problem is, why aren’t the dreams going away?”

BJ still doesn’t know what to say. He’s just a surgeon, he stitches guts together, not minds. But Hawkeye needs _someone_ to stitch him together, and if BJ doesn’t do anything, he might lose the already tenuous grasp he has on Hawkeye.

In the end, psychiatry can’t be that different from surgery. BJ hopes that’s true, at least, cause he’s a damn good surgeon. He ought to be at least a passable psychiatrist.

BJ sighs. “I guess just cause you can diagnose the problem doesn’t mean you can cure it.”

Hawkeye closes his eyes. “Tell me again, how long can you go without sleep?”

“Two weeks.”

“Well, I’m already four days down,” Hawk says.

It has the cadence of a joke. BJ doesn’t laugh. 

There’s a beat of silence. Hawkeye lets go of BJ’s arm and grabs his shirt instead, twists it a little. The motion brings BJ an inch or so closer to him. They’re close enough that an inch feels like an intolerable distance, it brings BJ close enough to see the lines on Hawk’s face, the way his eyebrows are furrowed in fear, his eyes glazed over with exhaustion.

Hawkeye’s voice is quieter now, the joking tone gone. “What’s gonna happen to me, Beej?” he asks. 

“Well, what do doctors do when we can’t cure something?” BJ asks. 

Hawkeye doesn’t reply. BJ takes it in stride.

“We treat the symptoms,” he tells Hawk, “We make the patient comfortable.” He realizes that he’s speaking slowly, as if he were talking to a child. Or a frightened animal, as it were.

Hawkeye stays silent. 

“D’you think you’d sleep better if you were comfortable?” BJ asks cautiously. Which is strange for him. He doesn’t normally do things _cautiously_. He does things _steadily_. He does things _calmly_. Right now he is neither of those. He feels like he’s drifting away from normalcy, from things he understands. Like a single wrong step could ruin everything. 

Hawkeye looks back over at him. “Yeah,” he says, a tinge of irritation creeping into his voice. “Yeah I think I’d sleep better if I was back in my bed in Crabapple Cove. Or even a nice hotel room in Tokyo. Anywhere but _here_.” He turns back, facing away from BJ again. 

BJ puts a hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder. Hawk tightens his grip on BJ’s shirt. “Here,” he says, “Here, I’ll sit with you. That way when you wake up you’ll know you’re fine. You’ll know _I’m_ fine.”

Hawkeye makes a strange motion with his hand- he pulls BJ first, gets him about an inch closer, brings their faces closer, then pushes him away, another couple of inches. “No,” he says, his voice even. Measured. Then his expression shifts, gets more guarded. The fear he was showing before drops away. 

“I don’t put out on a first date,” he says, his voice a little tight. It’s a joke. or— not a joke. A joke is supposed to make someone laugh. This isn’t meant to make BJ laugh, this is a deflection. Hawkeye is trying to push BJ away, to make him drop the subject.

BJ doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t drop the subject either. “C’mon,” he insists. “You need to sleep, Hawk.”

“Beej, it won’t help,” Hawkeye protests. “I’ll still have nightmares even if I’m not sleepwalking. Besides, you need your sleep too.”

BJ shakes his head. “Not as much as you do,” he insists. “I can handle it.”

Hawkeye turns his head again, so that he’s looking down at the floor. He hasn’t made eye contact with BJ since their eyes first met, sharp and panicked, when he had woken up screaming. 

BJ pushes a little on Hawkeye’s shoulder. Hawk pushes back, leans heavily into the contact. “Two weeks,” Hawkeye says. “I can go two weeks.”

“You gotta keep dancing,” BJ reminds him. “You’re not dancing now.”

Hawk looks up at him. Their eyes meet. It feels important. “Fine,” Hawkeye says. It’s not really a concession. There’s a softness to the way Hawk says it, a quiet gratitude. He had _wanted_ BJ to push him. 

They’re silent for a moment. Hawkeye lets go of BJ’s shirt and lays down, turning away from BJ. BJ keeps his hand on Hawk’s shoulder, moving the chair so he’s facing the door. He doesn’t move until Hawkeye’s breathing has evened out.When he’s sure Hawk is asleep, he stands up and pulls the blanket over Hawk’s shoulders. Something about the gesture makes him feel steady, like he’s found some normalcy, some security here.

Hawkeye sleeps through the night. BJ knows this because he stays awake the whole time, half-dozing off but still keeping a constant eye on Hawk. There’s something very serious about this, about what BJ is doing. He watches the sky lighten and the sun rise, slowly. 

When Hawk wakes up, he looks up at BJ. Their eyes meet. “Thank you,” he says, almost inaudible. BJ closes his eyes and nods. He waits for Hawk to get up before standing up and stretching his back. His neck is stiff, and he’s exhausted. 

But Hawk looks over at him and smiles a little before he grabs his bathrobe and heads to the shower. He looks lighter, BJ thinks. a little softer around the edges. BJ counts it as a victory, even though Hawk is still silent over breakfast and doesn’t react when Frank makes a snide comment about him sleepwalking. 

War is made up of small advances and even smaller victories. It doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t make operating on underage kids any easier, it doesn’t ease the flow of wounded in and out. It doesn’t even grant them a full night’s sleep. 

But when BJ accompanies Hawk to post-op, he watches as Hawkeye manages to make each one of his patients smile. It isn’t _nothing_. He’d go so far as to say it’s a step forward. 


End file.
